Collection of the Unfinished
by All Stories GO
Summary: A collection of unfinished or abandoned starts of stories. Mainly Matt. I never got around to finishing these, so I'm putting them here. Enjoy! :Rating subject to change::If you want a story from any of these chapters, encourage me with some reviews plz:
1. Matt is a Romantic

_**This is a collection of oneshots or chapters of stories(usually the first ones) that never got finished or were deemed unacceptable. This is mainly a thing for me to look back on, and if I get stuck, take a chapter and actually use it. Like this one. It will probably start something sooner or later.**_

_**If you want a story out of this, because I originally had a plotline(sorta), encourage me with reviews! :D**_

_**This was going to be the beginning of a story. Unfinished. Started it on 9-3-10.**_

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I'd always been a hopeless romantic, blunt, to the point, and just a little bit violent. I wasn't competitive, nor do I get angered easily, but if you managed to get under my skin, well... Let's just say your wrist would never be the same.

That's exactly what my parents were like, but much worse. I could get under their skin all the time, so I was hit multiple times throughout the years. I'm thirteen now, blunt as ever and still reading my romance novels. It's girly, I admit, and I'm more than a little ashamed for considering I Love Lucy as one of my 'shows'. I supposed Wammy's wouldn't have too many TVs for it, but I guess I'll deal with my small collection of favorite novels.

Mr. Wammy was talking about something. I _was _paying attention, but it's so unimportant I didn't bother taking much in. If it sounded useful, I took it into account- if it didn't, I forgot about it. Right now he was saying something about my roommate.

"Your roommate, Mello, is second here at Wammy's and very competitive," he said. I nodded a little, a sign for him to go on. I'm not competitive, so that's good. "He has a bit of a temper on him, so be cautious." At this, I had to use all my might to not outright laugh.

"Classes start on Mon-," he started, but I cut him off.

"I'd like private teaching, if that's okay," I interrupted.

Mr. Wammy nodded. "Of course. I'll notify you when we can get a professor to teach you all your subjects. If you take private schooling, however, you'll start classes later and end earlier, so you won't have as many classes as the other children; therefore, your risk is that your overall average will go down."

I only shrugged at this. He continued talking.

"You can only have two electives rather than three like the other children. Your test scores will be posted with the other children's scores in the main room. Every month, the list of top kids is updated. I suggest you look at them often and do your best."

I shrugged again, happy that I wouldn't have as many classes. I wonder if any other kids have private teaching. I didn't voice this inquiry, though.

Soon, we stopped at a door in the long hallway we had been walking through. It was wooden with the numbers two and three on it, two being farther left(my left, anyways) and the three being farther right. I looked to my left and saw a door with number sixteen and seventeen on it, the latter being on the right like the three. I wondered why the numbers were so random.

Wammy said that this was the last room that was free of a roommate and that the orphanage didn't have too many kids nor too many new arrivals. He warned me again of my roommates temper and left me with a, "Welcome to Wammy's House for Genii," and a smile. I sighed and opened the door.

The room was rather plain; hardwood floors, white walls(covered with papers, drawings, and posters on one side while the other side was blank), a desk, two beds with wardrobes to match, and not much else besides textbooks and a neatly stacked pile of dark chocolate bars of varying brands.

One side was completely blank, free of life and still. The other, however, was unruly and cluttered. My fingers twitched with annoyance. Most people don't think it when they see me, but I'm a neat freak. Because, ya know, organized people are just too lazy to get up and look for stuff. And I'm lazy as hell.


	2. Hypocrite Neatfreak Who Draws on Walls

**This was SUPPOSED to be Chapter 2 of French Origin.**

**That didn't happen. :D I'm writing a completely different chapter now, so... Here it is! I started this right before Christmas and never got around to finishing it, nor do I like it anymore. I am going to stick with the whole 'Matt draws on the wall with a Sharpie, therefore he is a hypocrite' thing, though. XD You don't really need to read the chapter one of French Origin to get it, so you don't have to go read it... but if you want to, that'd be freaking fantastic, yo.**

**Enjoy!**

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Matt slept blissfully and dreamlessly that night. He loved the, or rather lack of, sound in England at night. When he awoke, he saw the room was empty again. Things had been moved around and a silver line of duct tape had been taped on the floor, dividing the room in half. Matt rubbed his eyes under his goggles and sighed.

He climbed out of bed and went to the dresser on his side. He opened the top drawer, seeing that it had been filled with shirts of varying sizes. They were al relatively the same, with a button-up here, a sweater there, and a long-sleeved shirt there. There were some lightly colored shirts for more variation, like a light blue or brown shirt among the white.

Matt pulled all the ones that he would actually wear and set them all on the bed. They were all white tees with little to no variation; cotton, short-sleeved, thin and round collars. A couple were long-sleeved, but Matt didn't really plan on wearing anything but the tees. He folded and put the rest back in the top drawer, leaving it open slightly.

He opened the second drawer and found jeans. These had much more variation. Some were just like the ones Matt was wearing now, but others were lighter and some were completely different. Matt sighed and did the same thing with the jeans. He left the ones he would wear on the bed and put the rest in the top drawer with the shirts.

The third drawer had other things like boxers and socks. Matt blinked a little, seeing not a pair of briefs and wondered slightly, _How'd they know?_

And again, he repeated the process. Not much here was to be ruled out. Just the rare knee-high pair, the even rarer colored sock, or the boxers that were too long for Matt. He left all the things he would wear in the drawer this time, however, and put the rest in the top again.

He opened the middle drawer and put everything he had picked out, after folding it, in. The stuff in the middle was remarkably less in quantity than the top drawer.

"What... are you _doing?"_

_Matt whipped around, s_hocked. A blonde, about Matt's age, stood there in the doorway and had apparently been in the doorway for a little while. Matt instantly scrambled up and desperately hoped he looked okay.

"I, uh, I-" he tried, but the boy cut him off.

"Nevermind," the blonde said. Mello walked over to the line in the middle of the room. "See this line?" He asked, pointing at the silver tape.

Matt nodded mutely in response.

Mello continued. "This is my side," he said, gesturing to the side Matt didn't inhabit. "And that's yours." Mello pointed at Matt's side.

Again, Matt nodded, a lump in his throat causing him not being able to say anything. And, quite frankly, he probably wouldn't be able to get it out in English anyways.

Mello nodded. "Glad to know you understand. Now, stay out of my way, and we won't have to many problems."

Matt watched him sit down on his bed for a minute before speaking up. "Name, s'il vous plaît?"

Mello looked up at Matt. "Mello," he said shortly before turning back to his book.

"Matt," replied the redhead. Matt walked over to his own bed and searched through the nightstand, finding a Sharpie. He did something he was raised and told countless times not to do, and though it's childish for a 13 year old, he drew on the walls with the marker. Matt was a relatively good drawer who liked to stick to abstract, so it actually seemed to fit somewhat on the walls, the bold black marker on the clear white walls.

Even though Matt is a neat-freak, he'd always loved to draw on walls and always loved seeing stuff drawn on walls. Graffiti isn't the best example, but when people do a good job with those spray cans and don't just spray stuff, Matt actually enjoyed seeing what people did with only spray paint and a brick wall.

Soon, Matt had drawn all around the walls with the many doodles and lines stopping at the duct tape. Nothing was drawn on Mello's side, and Mello was quite happy about that.


End file.
